Speaking In Motions
by Captain Insaneway
Summary: Every star could die to darkness in the sky and it wouldn't matter because she was the light in your world, the one who broke the black of night and lit you through with sun. J7 Oneshot. Reviews are awesome.


She is the silver thread woven into life like a quiet gift, pushed across the table with shy hands and a cautious expression. She is the sun that hasn't brightened Janeway's eyes in years. She is beautiful and her virtues are more numerous than the stars.  
Her name falls from Janeway's lips and velvets the air like an exhalation of satiny ash. Seven. Seven-of-Nine; a line of code, dogtagged with numbers that have become a name. When Janeway speaks, she raises her head; hair an aureate halo, eyes full of questioning blue. She always looks up, even when her name is only half-spoken in the midst of heady lovemaking, even when the first syllable is ghosting in your mouth, even when you simply look her way; she's in tune. Ever attentative, she stands by her captain's side, a pale sentry. At night, she lies with her captain, a smile lighting a glow in her face and her fingers woven through Janeway's.  
Seven feels things. There's something like a shower of sparks ignited in her chest whenever she's pulled into a kiss. Something like a gnawing ache when she's apart from her. Sometimes, she kisses first.  
For the first time, as they lay together in Janeway's bed in a dandelion-delicate embrace, she whispered "I love you".  
"I love you too," Janeway replied.  
The words hung in the air like shimmering pollen for a long time afterward.

The morning dawned blackly. Kathryn Janeway woke up to gold and the smell of books. Seven lay in her arms, still asleep. Janeway had awoken with her face buried in Seven's hair and her arms looped across her lover's chest. For a long time, they lay in darkness and breathed together. She pressed soft kisses onto Seven's neck and she slept on, beautiful and porcelain and strung all over with starlight.  
"I love you."  
The words still rung, even now. Seven had said them of her own volition, and she had meant it; she hadn't just been mouthing a phrase she'd heard Janeway say to her so often. Janeway told her she loved her every day and every night, and had not, until last night, received any reciprocation. Janeway couldn't quite process it. The words had melted out of Seven's mouth into mist, so carefree and yet so weighted. They meant everything to her. She would remember that moment for the rest of her life, and cherish it deeply.  
Seven's language had, at first, been a language of actions. She'd tottered between emotions, ungainly as a child, unsure of how to express herself other than to mirror what she saw the others do. And thus, she had wandered into Janeway's arms, speaking only in motions; her smile told Janeway she was happy, her kisses told her she loved her. When she wove her fingers through hers, Seven was anchoring herself; telling Janeway she wanted to feel safe, to feel loved. Even in that perfect moment, with Seven enveloped in her arms, Janeway remembered when she wouldn't kiss her. She would sit close to her, contented in simply being by her side. She would sleep in her bed and watch her as she told her stories, watch her hands dance the words into sign-language; Janeway spoke with her hands. She would even embrace her, make love to her, cry for her, but she would never kiss her. Not until she felt sure that she loved her.  
For Seven, kisses were rationed. Kisses meant love, and love couldn't be handed out the moment you felt a flutter of something you didn't understand. She had waited. The moment came, unexpected and perfect in Janeway's ready room; they were talking about music. Beyond, a nebula shimmered like the aurora. The stars flickered and seemed almost to dim as Seven leaned in and pulled Janeway into a kiss. It was slow and lasting, and when they broke apart, Seven's eyes were full of tears she didn't understand.  
Janeway remembered it in perfect clarity; the way the tears felt on her cheeks, the way she'd been explaining how Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata was fraught with sadness, the way Seven had somehow managed to be so _gentle._ Seven was not always physically gentle, but the tenderness of her new feelings and cautious love was a delicate blossom of humanity and understanding.  
Seven had verbalized the kiss, painted it into words with trembling lips. She had said "I love you". One might think this was the occasion to celebrate, but as Janeway reflected, Seven had told her she loved her long ago, and every day since in kisses and glances more precious than any word could ever be. She was not a drone, not a _machine _to be simplified into parts and lines of code. She was a person. She was Seven of Nine, and just as vulnerable to the folly of falling in love as Janeway was.

Seven awoke to a feeling of the purest serenity she'd ever experienced. Her eyes flickered open and she turned to pull Janeway close, a sleepy smile warming her cheeks as the Captain kissed her.  
"You slept for a long time," Janeway murmured, reaching over to brush hair from Seven's face.  
"I love you," Seven replied simply, enjoying the way the words tumbled out and fluttered upward like a clatter of birds from a rooftoop. Janeway had to laugh at that.  
"I love you too," her reply was lost in a kiss.  
Seven wondered briefly if that was the definition of happiness; the sense of utter solace and contentment, being wrapped in the arms of your lover. The feeling of safety and stillness, where nobody needs to talk. Where every star could die to darkness in the sky and it wouldn't matter because she was the light in your world, the one who broke the black of night and lit you through with sun.  
In that moment, filled with the understanding that she was in love, that the woman in her arms was the woman she had fallen for, Seven felt a realization seep into her consciousness.  
This was perfection.


End file.
